


Driving Mr. Winchester

by thejabberwock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Needs Love, Established Relationship, M/M, Protective Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejabberwock/pseuds/thejabberwock
Summary: Even broken ribs aren't enough to make Dean give up the driver's seat. Not until Castiel intervenes.





	

“Don’t take it personally,” Sam advises as he slams the trunk and puts his bag over his shoulder. “He never lets me drive either.” 

Castiel knows it’s hyperbole; that isn’t the reason for his frown. Dean is tired. Worse, he was injured; and still sore after their fight with the two ghosts they’ve been hunting. Even after being healed by Castiel’s temperamental grace, he’s still sore. 

“Let’s move,” Dean interrupts Castiel’s regretful reverie. “It’s four hours to Milford. Hey, Sammy. Dinner.” He tosses a bag of vegetable chips at Sam’s chest and clips Castiel’s hip as he walks past. “Shake a leg, Cas.” 

Instead of shaking his leg, Castiel stays where he is. 

“Dean,” he says, choosing a tone that he has learned will give him Dean’s attention. It works as well as always. Dean pauses with the Impala’s door open, eyebrows rising. 

“Yeah?” 

“You should rest,” Castiel answers, a variation of his request after they decided to split up for grave-digging duties. “I can drive.” 

Dean smiles, shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He angles his body to slide into the car. 

“Dean.” 

Dean pauses again, a small frown beginning to tighten his face as he turns back around. “Cas, just get in. We’ve got a long way to go and I’m beat.” 

“Which is why you should let me drive. You cracked two of your ribs–”

“And you patched them up.“

“Not as well as I used to be able to,” Castiel reminds him. “You’re still sore.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m not too sore to drive a couple of hours.” 

“Four.” 

“I’ve driven farther with worse injuries.”

“You shouldn’t have to though. There are two of us–”

“He’s got a point–”

Dean turns his glare toward his brother and Sam holds up his hands, the position of surrender.  Castiel regrets that as well. He tries not to argue with Dean in front of him, knowing he doesn’t enjoy being “trapped in the middle”. 

“All right, I’ll see you guys after you burn Jack’s bones,” Sam says. With a smirk, he adds,  “Good effort, Cas.” 

Dean scowls at that as they watch Sam make his way toward the cemetery to dig up Jack’s brother. “Can we go now, please?” 

“I want to help.” 

“I don’t need help with driving,” he says, in a tone that says he thinks that settles the matter. “Come on.”  

Castiel is tempted to refuse, and maybe he pauses too long because Dean gives him an incredulous look. “Are you coming or not?”

Castiel frowns, but he gets in the car. Dean looks annoyed as he gets in as well, but his face relaxes when the engine roars to life. He taps the dashboard like he often does, with a fond look that Castiel still doesn’t understand after all this time. 

Once he’s pulled away from the curb, Dean reaches over and gives Castiel’s thigh the same sort of pat. “Grab a tape?” 

Still frowning a little, Castiel chooses one and passes it over to Dean, who pushes it into place and then turns up the volume. “Nice,” he says appreciatively as the music begins to play. “Good choice.” 

“Thank you. We should make a driving schedule.”

Dean groans, an overdramatic response as far as Castiel is concerned. He makes sure Dean knows it by eye contact alone when he glances over. “You’re gonna do this the whole way, aren’t you?” 

“Not if I’m busy driving.” 

Huffing, Dean returns his attention to the road, but he glances back a moment later. “What’s with the Hoke Colburn routine?” 

“Who’s Hoke Colburn?” 

Dean looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Chauffer from a movie. What’s with you?” 

“Nothing is  _with me_ , Dean. I just don’t understand why you should be the only one to drive when there are two of us. Especially when your ribs are still healing.” 

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record, Cas.” 

“So are you, when it comes to your insistence that I’m never allowed to drive. I’ve had a car for years. I know how to drive, you know.” 

“I know you do. That’s not—”

“I know you don’t trust most people with your car, but I wish you would trust me. I know how important Baby is to you.” 

“That’s not,” Dean stops, huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “I trust you, Cas, jeez, I know you’re not going to run her off the road.” 

“Then why won’t you let me drive?” 

Dean’s lips press together as he turns his head to look out the window again. He shakes it, clearly unhappy, so Castiel is surprised when he slows down and steers the car onto the shoulder before coming to a complete stop.  He leaves the keys in the ignition and gets out before Castiel can ask what he’s doing. 

Dean opens his door, and leans in, eyebrows high. “Scoot.” 

Still confused, Castiel slides over the bench and settles into the driver’s seat.  Dean gets in and closes the door.  

Castiel smiles over at him, and Dean returns it, even if not as enthusiastically as Castiel prefers. “Thank you, Dean,” he says warmly and that helps a little. 

“Put the lead out,” he says, a reference Castiel can’t pinpoint, but he knows it means Dean wants him to start driving. So, he does, guiding the car carefully back onto the road and bringing it up to the posted speed. 

He hopes Dean notices his care. 

But when he glances over, he sees that Dean is agitated; drumming his fingers on the edge of the seat, on his knee.  It’s not the way he sometimes does it, the rhythms he plays that Castiel can pick out as music.  

He’s not angry—not that Castiel can sense. But it’s still impossible not to say, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Dean looks over at him, surprise in his expression. “I’m not upset.” 

Castiel gives a pointed look to the fingers curled around his kneecaps and Dean grimaces, taps his thumbs like he can’t help it before letting his hands relax. 

Castiel knows he doesn’t like to be idle, Castiel knows that. He feels momentarily guilty even though he’s just trying to help. He knows Dean likes to drive, but he doesn’t understand it. It’s not a feeling he shares.  He’s glad to contribute, but as far as he’s concerned, driving is an inconvenience, much like urinating was when he was human. It’s an inconvenience he would gladly give up in favor of his wings. “Why do you like driving?” he asks. 

Dean shrugs. “I just do.” 

When Castiel raises his eyebrows pointedly, Dean sighs but continues, “I don’t know, I just always have. My first time it was because my dad got hurt on a hunt and my feet could barely reach the pedals–” He smiles. “–but I got us out of there and Dad taught me for real once he got better.” 

“How old were you?” 

“Eight.” 

“It isn’t legal to drive in the United States until age sixteen.” 

"Yeah well. We weren’t exactly model citizens. Anyway, it was good. I got to help my dad out a lot more.” 

Castiel glances over, finds the smile to match Dean’s tone.

“And we were in the car so much anyway; more than anywhere else really...” He shrugs again, goes back to tapping restless beats against his knees.  

Castiel thinks he understands. Beyond the need to keep busy, driving is also a comfort to him, a way to protect the people he loves. 

Carefully, he maneuvers out of his lane and onto the side of the road. 

“Cas, what’re you–” The protest is cut off with Castiel’s kiss. He likes the way it makes him quiet.  It’s not a deep kiss, not like the ones that preface sex, but it’s nice. Soft and easy. And when Castiel pulls back, Dean licks his lips and raises an eyebrow. “What was that for?” 

“I love you,” Castiel says simply. 

Confusion draws Dean’s eyebrows together.

Before he can voice it, Castiel explains, “I want to take care of you.” 

Dean’s expression smoothes, a small smile softening his face. “You do,” he says, serious and playful all at once although Castiel has never understood how he manages it. “I’d be a puddle on that farmhouse floor if you hadn’t intervened last night.” He takes Castiel’s hand and presses it gently into his side. “You fix me up all the time.” 

“A skilled doctor could do the same.” 

“Skilled doctors don’t keep me warm at night.” 

Castiel smiles at that. There’s been very few people to do that in Dean’s life. Even less to press a kiss to his cheek and wish him a good night. Dean always closes his eyes when he does that, puts his strong hand over Castiel’s and draws him in a little closer. 

It’s when he’s most content, his heartbeat steady, expression soft and easy. It’s when his soul is calmest, and Castiel frequently wishes he could make Dean feel like that always. He feels close to that now, and it’s with a jolt of surprise that Castiel realises he usually is calm when they’re in the car—either alone or with Sam. When they’re not in danger, when no one’s hurt, he’s content when he drives. 

Happy.  

Castiel kisses him again, just for a moment before he pulls back and gets out of the car.  “Cas?” 

Dean looks bewildered when he opens the door to the passenger side. Smiling, Cas echoes his earlier, “Scoot.” 

Biting at his lip to still his amusement, Dean moves over. “I can handle not driving for a few hours,” he says, but he’s moving the car out of park as he says it. 

“I know.” Castiel moves across the seat so they’re closer. Dean smiles over at him, rests a hand on his leg as he pulls onto the road. “You’ll tell me if you need my help?” 

Dean’s thumb runs along the seam at his knee, his agreement quiet and warm. His own contentment a match to Dean’s, Cas smiles as they speed down the highway.


End file.
